The Maltese Mole Rat
by Mahler Avatar
Summary: Ron dreams he's the hard-boiled detective Sam Spade as he tries to solve the mystery of The Maltese Mole Rat. Round up the usual suspects for another whacked-out parody hidden within an enigma and wrapped up in cryptic Naco of mystery...
1. A Mysterious Client

_There have been many excellent film noir detective mysteries in the past, but none have come close to matching The Maltese Falcon. But what if Ron's dreams of being a hard-boiled detective were to be fried over-easy? Then read on, if you dare..._

_Disclaimer: Kim Possible and The Maltese Falcon are owned by their respective copyright owners. And any resemblence to persons living or dead will be purely and intentionally farcical..._

_And leave a review, I'll send a reply._

* * *

"Ron, you're falling asleep again."

He yawned back, "Huh? Oh, sorry, Kim. One too many lectures at college today."

He stretched out his arms to relieve the tension.

"Man, all those classes are just grueling. And now that Humphrey Bogart marathon is starting on Middleton Movie Classics! I've really been looking forward to it, so I better nuke some more coffee so I can stay awake."

Kim frowned. "Just don't stay up too late, Mr. Movie. Don't forget that finals begin tomorrow."

Ron groaned, "Yeah, don't remind me."

She kissed him on the forehead and left to go upstairs.

He mumbled, "No matter what, I'm staying awake for this. This is my favorite movie of all time!"

Ron stretched out his arms again as he laid back on the couch. "Gosh, I wonder what it would have been like to be a hard-boiled private eye like Sam Spade, way back then…"

The movie began and the credits started to roll, the tinny 1940's movie soundtrack accompanying the scratchy black and white images.

By the time the title card appeared, Ron was fast asleep.

"_In 1593, the Knights Templar of Malta paid tribute to Wallace I of Rodigan by sending him a Golden Mole Rat encrusted from head to toe with the rarest of jewels. But the pirate Blackeye Brown seized the ship carrying this priceless token, and the fate of the Maltese Mole Rat remains a mystery to this day…"_

The scene cut to the outer office door of a detective agency in downtown San Francisco. It read, "Stoppable and Senior Detective Agency (But We Serve Minors Too!)"

Sam Stoppable's faithful friend and Gal Friday Kimmie Peregrine opened the inner door to his office, and found him unsuccessfully playing with a paddle ball, accidentally hitting himself with it instead.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!"

He looked up to see Kimmie frowning back at him with her arms crossed. "Oh, _heh-heh_, hey shweetheart. What's the sitch?" With an embarrassed look, he quickly put the paddle ball back in the drawer.

"There's a lady here who wants to see you. Her name's Ms. Wonderful." She continued with a sly grin, "That is, if you can tear yourself away from your _other_ important business."

Sam perked up. "Ooh! A customer?"

"I guess so. You'll want to see her, anyway. She's a real knockout."

Ron quickly straightened his tie. "Well, show her in, Kimmie."

She glided into the room with almost catlike grace. One look at the gorgeous raven-haired woman, and Sam's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. If this had been a Tex Avery cartoon, no doubt he would have instantly turned into a zoot-suited wolf, complete with lolling tongue.

To say that she was a knockout was an understatement of galactic proportions. And this dame's proportions were certainly heavenly. Her shapely silk-stocking covered legs reached right to the floor, and her low-cut mint green chiffon dress tightly hugged every one of her graceful curves. He had her pegged as major trouble the moment he saw her.

In her hands, she held a Harlequin paperback.

"Romance novel?" he asked.

The dark-haired beauty smoothly replied, "No thanks, I've already got one."

With a confused look he responded, "Yes. Yes, of course."

A sultry saxophone began playing in the background.

Sam frowned. "Not now, Kimmie."

With a look of disappointment, she put the saxophone down and reached for her violin.

"Sorry, Kimmie. No gratuitous sax _or _violins today, please and thank you."

Finally giving up, she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Sam merely shrugged as he gestured to a chair. "Won't you sit down, Ms. Wonderful? Sam Stoppable, at your service."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Sam _Stoppable_? Doesn't that, uh, kind of send the wrong message?

He drawled, "Yeah, I get that all the time. I tried Ron Rototiller, but then I was getting all sorts of gardening calls. So, what can I do for you, Ms. Wonderful?"

She began huskily, "I need a detective. I'm staying at the Hotel Rockwaller, and I asked them if they could recommend someone reliable. They tried to steer me away from your agency as way too goofy, the manager even calling you a loser, but she _did_ say you'd work dirt cheap."

Sam recalled the hotel's snarky proprietress and current amour of his business partner. He thought to himself, "_Yeah, Bonnie, just mock the fact that business is a little slow, why don't you?"_

His attention suddenly snapped back to the femme fatale as she uncrossed one leg and placed it over the other, provocatively smoothing out a wrinkle on her dress. Sam started to break out in a sweat.

"Something the matter, Mr. Stoppable?"

"Oh, er, nothing. Just wondering how much, uh, leg work this case will involve."

Ms. Wonderful smiled back with a not-so-innocent grin, as Sam's nonchalant tough-guy attitude continued to melt away.

"I'd like to hire you to locate my sister. Her name's Miss Go, and she's run off with a dangerous ex-con named Itwasa Tuesday. He goes by Itsy for short. However, my sister isn't well versed in the ways of the world, and I'm real worried about her. I'm hoping that when you find him, you'll find her as well. Oh, and by the way, he's under a terrific delusion that he can sing, so the local karaoke bars might be a good place to start."

Just then the door opened and in walked Sam's partner, Miles Senior Junior. He spotted Ms. Wonderful's considerable assets right away.

"Oh, the pardons! Excuse me, pretty lady."

Sam waved him in. "It's all right, Junior. Come in. Ms. Wonderful, my business associate, Miles Senior Junior."

Sam turned back to Junior. "Ms. Wonderful's sister, Miss Go, has run off with a dude named Tuesday. When we find him, we'll probably find her too. He likes to sing karaoke, so …"

Junior gushed, "Ooh, Ooh! Let us take the case, partner! I shall go undercover as a teen pop sensation and find this very bad man. I shall tail him and find this Miss Go person, this I promise!"

Sam smiled back at their sultry client. "Well, Ms. Wonderful, I think we have a deal."

Junior happily continued, "Ooh, partner, I am the excited boy! My fiancée, Señorita Bonnie, will be so pleased when I tell her. Then perhaps she will finally let me set a date for the marriage now that we have gainful employment?"

Ms. Wonderful instantly held up her hands. "Whoa, slow down there, Junior. This won't be just a Sunday stroll in the park. Tuesday is as dangerous as Miss Go is sweet and innocent. He wouldn't stop at anything in order to keep from going back to Cell Block D."

Ron surmised, "Could he cover up by marrying her?"

She shook her head back and forth. "No way. He already has a wife and three children in Middleton."

Sam smirked, "They usually do, though not always in Middleton. What does he look like?"

"He's got dark hair, blue skin and a scar beneath one eye. He talks in a loud, blustery manner and likes to, uh, give the impression of being evil. He was wearing a long, blue lab coat the last time I saw him."

"What does he do?" Sam queried.

She shrugged. "Who knows? Mad scientist, tries to take over the world, maybe even a horticulturist on the side: I haven't the faintest idea."

Ms. Wonderful pulled out her billfold. "Oh, and will this be enough to retain your services?"

She handed him a $200 Smarty Mart gift certificate.

Sam's eyes widened at the considerable amount. "Coolio! That'll be fine to start. Thanks!"

She gave him a seductive wink. "Don't mention it. You know where to reach me." As she got up to leave, she sensually smoothed down another wrinkle on her dress. Kimmie once again began warbling on her sax as Ms. Wonderful slinked out of the office.

Sam bade the drop-dead gorgeous female goodbye. "Until the next time, then. Hasta lombego, Ms. Wonderful."

Kimmie came back in as soon as she'd left. Sam asked, "Well, Kimmie, what do you think of her?"

The goofy look on his own face revealed exactly what _he_ thought of her.

She scratched her chin. "Well, she's sweet, but that green tint to her skin is kinda gorchy."

Ron agreed, "Yeah, that's sick and wrong all right. Looks like she needs to get out in the sun a little more often. Then again, it could just be her diet, and I should know. I remember that time when I tried to live off of Bueno Nacho for breakfast, lunch and dinner, which was bad enough, but when I fell into that vat of mysterious chemicals at HenchCo…"

As he continued to drone on, he didn't even notice as Kimmie softly closed the door behind her.

* * *

Later that evening, the regional singing competition at the Hyde Street Karaoke Bar was in full swing, with a dozen hopeful crooners each lining up for their chance to strut their stuff.

Itsy Tuesday was the next to sing. He confidently strode up to the microphone and began his song.

"I'm going through a tunnel, stuck in the canyon, in an elevator. Who'll even listen? No! _No, no, no! _Whoa, whoa! Hello, hello, can you hear me now? _Hello?_"

Although his raspy, grating voice wouldn't be winning him any awards, the emotional content of his performance did strike a sympathetic chord with a few members of the audience, who politely applauded.

Itsy bowed deeply and gushed, "Thank you very much! Ha-ha, you're too kind." He strutted proudly to his table in the back and sat down next to a beautiful young woman who was a dead ringer for Ms. Wonderful. Junior instantly spotted her, deducing that she must be the mysterious Miss Go.

Junior was the last to sing, but he was quite nervous. He had already been thrown out of two other karaoke bars that evening due to his lackluster singing, so he was anxious to perform as well as he could while he continued to tail the elusive Itsy Tuesday.

He began tentatively, "On the road to love, you must pay the toll… Exact change is required, 'cause that's the way I roll… I've got a tortured soul, and my heart, it has a _hole_."

Just as had occurred elsewhere, his terribly off-key singing and total lack of technique were earning him increasing boos and catcalls from the audience.

He weakly finished, "Because that's just the way I roll, Ba-_hay_, _baby_. That's just the way I _rollllll_..."

Just as he finished his song, a shot rang out from the back of the small audience. The look of surprise on Junior's face lasted only a moment before he keeled over on the stage.

An enthusiastic round of applause immediately broke out, followed by several hurrahs and a desire to congratulate whoever had pulled the trigger. But during the loud celebration that followed, no one noticed a second shot, this time with Itsy Tuesday as the target. Itsy likewise collapsed at his table. An ambulance was quickly called and rushed the two seriously wounded men to the hospital, and the police were notified.

A few minutes later, Sam Stoppable was awakened by a phone call.

He groggily answered, "Hello? Yeah, speaking… Junior's been _shot_? Where? … Well, of course in the shoulder, I mean the place where he was at! The karaoke joint on the corner of Jekyll and Hyde? Yeah, I'll be there in twenty minutes."

He hung up and quickly dialed another number. "Hello, Kimmie? It's me. Now, listen, precious. Junior's been shot. No, he's not dead, but if anyone heard him singing, he might as well be. Now, don't get excited, but you'll have to break the news to Bonnie. I'd rather eat a moldy Naco before talking to her, so you've got to keep her away from me. Now, get right over there. Thanks, Kimmie, you're an angel."

Twenty minutes later, Sam strode into the karaoke bar.

A police officer motioned him to the stage, where Detective Hobble greeted him.

"Hello, Sam. I figured you'd want to see this."

"Thanks, Detective. What happened?"

"Someone got him with this. It's a Luger."

"German?"

"No, I'm Irish. When will you ever start remembering that?"

"Uh, never mind. How many shots were fired?"

"Only one, and it was from the pistol we found lying on the table Tuesday was at when _he_ was shot."

"Anybody hear the first shot?"

"Yeah, everybody in the entire place. You've never heard such uproarious applause."

Sam smirked, "Oh yeah? You ever hear Junior sing?"

"No. That good?"

"Uh-uh, that bad. What about the second shot?"

"No one heard it since the crowd had already gone wild. We figure Tuesday was trying to dust his competition."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "With _Junior's_ voice? Maybe not impossible, but really, really, _really _hard to believe."

"Tell me, was Junior workin', Sam?"

"Yeah, he was actually tailing Tuesday."

"What for?"

"I can't tell."

"You can tell me, I'm a cop."

"No, I mean I'd rather not say at the moment. Well, I guess I better break the news to his fiancée, Bonnie."

Hobble lamented, "It's tough, him gettin' it like that, ain't it? Junior had his faults like any of us, but he must've had some good points, too."

Sam sadly wagged his head. "I guess so. It's just that singing wasn't one of them."

He left and walked around the corner to the nearest payphone. He dialed the Hotel Rockwaller.

"Ms. Wonderful, please… Checked out? What time? Any forwarding address? Okay, thanks."

As he walked back to his flat, he thought, "_Hmm, she checked out two hours ago, and no forwarding. There's some rotten cheese in the state of … well, whatever state they make it in. And Ms. Wonderful seems to be the melted topping on this Naco of evil." _

For a moment, his mind's eye conjured up a mental picture of Ms. Wonderful drizzled with a can of whipped cream, before shaking his head to clear that particular vision.

He looked up at the nighttime sky. The moon beat down on the city like a hammer, a relentless cold beating hammer hammering down like a big metaphor that was... cold, for some reason.

A few minutes after he had stepped back into his flat, there was a knock at the door.

When he opened it, Detective Hobble and Lieutenant Barkin of the SFPD stood before him. "Good evening, detectives. Won't you come in?"

Hobble began, "So, did you break the news to Junior's fiancée, Sam? How'd she take it?

Sam waffled, "Uh, not exactly. You know I don't know anything about women."

Hobble scoffed, "Since when?"

Barkin sneered, "Since high school. He's as clueless now as he was back then."

Hobble sighed and continued, "What kind of gun do you carry?

Sam replied, "None. I don't like 'em. But I've got a few water pistols back at the office."

"You don't have one here? You sure about that?"

Sam was starting to feel very uncomfortable. "Uh, what's this really about, Detective?"

"Why were you tailing Tuesday?"

He smiled back innocently, "I wasn't tailing anyone Tuesday, but I was tailing someone the Monday before last."

"Don't get smart. I mean Itwasa Tuesday."

"Oh, heh-heh, _that_ Tuesday. Actually Junior was, 'cause we had a client..."

"Who's the client?"

A crooked grin broke out on his face as he visualized Ms. Wonderful and that can of whipped cream again. "Sorry, I can't tell you that."

Barkin growled, "Probably a hot dame with a reaction like that, don't you think, Hobble?"

He turned back to Sam and smirked, "And don't think we don't know about Bonnie Rockwaller having the hots for you, in spite of her engagement to Junior. I think that whole 'loser' thing regarding you is just a ruse to pull the wool over our eyes, so we've put a tail on her just in case she had something to do with all this."

Sam agreed, "Yeah, that's some tail… I mean, yeah, I know she was all over me like a cheap suit when I got that $99 million check for inventing the Naco, and then again when she cheated her way to becoming the Prom Queen when I was the Prom King, and then Kimmie caught us lipsmacking, which was totally Embarrassment City, but I explained to her I wasn't the kiss-er, I was the kiss-EE, but that didn't seem to make any…"

"STOPPABLE!" Barkin fumed, his face a perfect picture of total frustration.

Hobble pressed on, "Be reasonable, Sam. Give us a break, will ya? How can we turn up anything if you don't tell us what you got? Barkin here says you were in too much of a hurry to stop and check on your partner at the hospital, and you didn't even go to his fiancée's house to break the news. We called your office and the girl there said _you_ told her to do it."

Barkin postulated, "Stoppable, I'll give you five minutes to get to a phone and talk to that red-headed receptionist of yours. Then I'll give you twenty minutes to get back to your flat. You could have done it easily in that time."

Sam began to break out into sweat. "Uh, what's he getting at, Detective Hobble?"

Hobble answered, "Just this: both of them were shot within a twenty minute walk of this flat."

Suddenly realizing that he was a suspect, Sam replied sarcastically, "Oh, so if I'm starting at Point A walking south at five miles and hour, and your driving north from Point B at twenty miles an hour, at what point do you run me over with an accusation of attempted homicide? Sounds like one of your extra homework questions from high school, Lt. Barkin."

Barkin looked ready to clobber him, but Hobble held up his hand to calm the Lieutenant down. "Sam, what time did you get home?"

"A few minutes ago. I was walkin' and thinkin' things over."

Barkin griped, "We know. We tried to call you. But since your phone wasn't busy, I figured at least you weren't trying to call _me_. I've had to have my number changed _three times_ over the past year, because you must think I'm either Miss Lonelyhearts, or else your shrink!"

Hobble barked, "Stow it, Barkin." His head snapped back to Sam. "Where'd you walk to, Sam?"

Sam shrugged. "Bueno Nacho, but it was already closed."

"Did you see anybody?"

"No, no witnesses, except them." Sam pointed directly at the fourth wall.

Barkin rolled his eyes. "Nice try, Stoppable."

Sam crossed his arms. "Well, at least I know where I stand now. Sorry I got all bon-diggety on you there, but Junior gettin' shot really upset me, then you two comin' here casting aspirations …"

Barkin rolled his eyes. "That's _aspersions_, Stoppable."

"Yeah, whatever. Missed that word on your pop quiz back at Middleton High, too. By the way, have you been able to question either Junior or Tuesday about what they saw?"

Barkin muttered, "Nah, they're both in a coma. But if either of them croak, it's gonna be Murder One for whoever did it."

Sam swallowed nervously.

Hobble interjected, "Well, you know me, Sam. Whether or not you did it, you'll get a square deal and most of the breaks. Don't know if I'd blame you, a man that shot your partner, but that won't stop me from nailin' you."

Sam agreed, "Fair enough. But I'd feel better about it if you'd have a drink with me. Soda?

"Soda?" Hobble and Barkin happily exclaimed at the same time.

"Jinx!" Ron blurted out. "Now you guys both owe _me _a round the next time!"

After they had left, Rufus popped out of Sam's pocket with a worried look on his tiny mole rat face.

"Yeah, Rufus. I've really got a tiger by the tail this time. And I'm sure that Miss Wonderful is in this up to her pretty little neck too. So it's up to us to figure out this riddle hidden within an enigma and wrapped up in cryptic Naco of mystery..."

_**To Be Continued...**_


	2. The Thick Plottens

_Thanks to all who have read so far, and particularly this week's reviewers: Eddy13, Muzzlehatch, Dr. Rex Greylin, Katsumara, readerjunkie, CajunBear73, and Shyguy1. And now the mystery deepens as the hem lines begin to rise ..._

* * *

Early the next morning, Sam Stoppable walked through the door of his office. Kimmie was already there.

She moaned, "Bonnie's in there, Sam."

He whined, "I told you to keep her away from me, Kimmie!"

She apologized, "Yes, but you didn't tell me how. Don't be sore at me, Sam, I've had her all night, and I'm way too old for these ferocious slumber parties."

Sam apologized, "Sorry, Kimmie. I'll take care of her."

He walked into his inner office. Bonnie stood before him dressed in black, but something told him she wasn't quite in mourning over Junior being used for target practice. Her little black dress was way too short, and if it had been any lower cut, the rating of the current story would have definitely gone up a notch.

"Heh-_hey_ there, Bonnie."

"Sam, you hottie!" She immediately proceeded to smother him with some serious lipsmacking.

Aghast at her advance, he immediately broke away. "Hey, what's that all about?"

She smiled back at him through hooded eyes. "Well, I heard you tried to plug Junior, and I just wanted to say thanks. No one's ever tried to ice someone to prove their love for me before."

He quickly wiped her lipstick off of his face. "Wha-what? Who put that bright idea into your head? I didn't shoot Junior, and I didn't shoot Tuesday either!"

"But I thought I overheard you say that if it wasn't for Junior, you'd fire Kimmie and hire _me_…"

He grimaced as he wagged his head. "No, I said if it wasn't for Junior, I'd probably _hire_ Kimmie as my _bon_-diggety associate! Did you know that she's an expert in sixteen different styles of Kung Fu? She'd be the cat's pajamas as a partner!"

A brief look of embarrassment came over Bonnie's face. "Oopsies…"

"You may have the street smarts that a private eye needs, Bon-Bon, but the problem is you're pure evil. And it's not just high school evil anymore. You shouldn't have come here today. You oughta be home, or at least at the hospital visiting Junior."

Still not willing to give up totally, she purred, "But you'll come by soon? It'd be a shame to waste this totally hot dress on just … _anybody._"

He simply rolled his eyes and said, "Goodbye, Bonnie."

Even so, she still gave him a sexy wink before sauntering out of the office.

"You haven't seen the last of me, Stoppable." As she left, the badaboom of drums began beating rhythmically with each provocative sashay of her hips.

Sam sighed, "Cut it out, Kimmie."

Kimmie entered carrying her drumsticks and grinning from ear to ear. "Just thought it was appropriate under the circumstances, Sam. So, how did you _make out_ with Bon-Bon?"

He grimaced at her double entendre. "Funny. Very funny. The cops think I shot Tuesday, and Bonnie thinks I shot Junior."

She gave him a sly look. "So that you could hook up with her?"

He stuck his tongue out in disgust. "Eww! That's just sick and wrong, Kimmie."

Kimmie offered up a silent "_YESSS!"_ and swiftly began checking her makeup before continuing.

"Well, do you suppose that our dear sweet innocent Bon-Bon could have shot him?"

Sam looked introspective for a moment. "Hmm. Well, I wouldn't put it past her, if it were in her own best interest. She's always been fanatical about staying at the top of the food chain and all."

Kimmie warned, "But do the police really think you shot this Itsy what's-his-name? You better be careful, Sam. You may think that you know what you're doing, but you're too ferociously slick for your own good sometimes. I just hope that I'm around when you find that out."

The phone rang, and Kimmie answered it. "Stoppable and Junior Detective Agency."

The look on her face told Sam that she knew exactly who was on the other end.

"_Yes_, Ms. Wonderful, he's right here."

She handed the phone to Sam.

"Hello? Yeah, this is Sam Stoppable. Where? Drakken Arms, Apartment D. Under what name?" He grabbed a pencil. "Ms. Wobackoff. Right. Okay, I'll be right over."

Before he could leave, Kimmie hastily added, "Oh, Sam, the Department of Alcohol & Beverages just called to complain about the sign on the door. Something about implying that we're serving minors."

Sam scratched the back of his neck. "Ooh, yeah, I can see how they would. Uh, have that taken off, and have 'We Serve Seniors Too, 9 to 5!' put on."

He hurriedly left for his rendezvous, anxious to uncover the deepening mystery.

* * *

It was another blistering summer day in the City. The sun beat down on the sidewalk like a hammer, a relentless hot beating hammer hammering down like a big metaphor that was... hot, for some reason. He walked up the steps to the Drakken Arms and rang the bell to Apartment D.

Ms. Wonderful opened the door. She huskily whispered, "Come in, Mr. Stoppable. Won't you have a seat?"

She was wearing an elegant striped gown which emphasized every wonderful curve of her voluptuous figure. The soft strains of a saxophone could be heard playing in the background.

"Uh, Kimmie, you in here somewhere?" Sam began searching the room, expecting to find his Girl Friday behind the door, only to discover a record player playing some smooth jazz.

Ms. Wonderful purred, "Kimmie who?"

Sam merely shrugged. "Uh, nothing. Never mind."

He immediately noticed that the furniture in the apartment was striped, just like her gown. The slivers of light coming through the window were likewise striped, giving the impression of prison bars, which was very curious since there were no Venetian blinds in the room.

"Uh, interesting décor."

She replied matter-of-factly, "Yeah, it reminds me of home."

With a look of regret on her face, Ms. Wonderful looked down at the floor as she continued.

"Mr. Stoppable, I... I have a terrible confession to make. That story I told you yesterday... was just a story."

Sam waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, _that_. Pfft. Well, we didn't exactly believe you, Ms. … well, tell me, is it Wonderful, or is it Wobackoff?"

"It's actually Shego. Shego O'Shaughnessy."

"Well, Ms. Shego, we didn't exactly buy your story about your make-believe sister. We believed your $200 Smarty Mart certificate."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You mean…"

"Yes, you paid me more than you needed to if you were actually telling the truth, and more than enough to make it all right."

With a tone of regret, she asked, "Tell me, Mr. Stoppable, am I to blame for last night?"

He tapped his chin. "Well, you warned us that Tuesday was dangerous, so no, I wouldn't say that you were at fault."

Shego acted relieved. "Thank you. It's just that Junior was so alive yesterday, so confident in his manly singing ability, and..."

Sam angrily growled, "Stop it. He knew what he was doing. Those are the chances we take."

"As a private eye?"

"No, as a karaoke artist. Those audiences can be murder. Which is practically what happened to both him _and_ Tuesday. Now there's a flock of policemen running around with their noses to the ground, sniffing out clues."

With a slight tremble in her voice she asked, "Mr. Stoppable, do they know about me?"

"Not yet. I've been stalling them until I could see you."

"Can't you shield me so I won't have to answer their questions?"

"Well, maybe, but I gotta know what this is all really about."

She avoided his eyes. "I… I can't tell you."

"You can tell me, I'm a private eye."

"No, I mean I can't tell you now, but perhaps I can later."

Shego smiled and looked at him through half-closed eyes. She slinked closer to him.

"You've got to trust me, Mr. Stoppable. I'm so alone and afraid."

She slowly backed him up against the wall, and was now eye to eye with him. Her heady perfume was intoxicating, as was his view of something else if he had chosen to look down.

She removed his hat and began running her fingers through his hair as she cooed, "I've got nobody to help me if you won't, Sam. You're brave. You're strong…"

She grinned, "And… you're sweating profusely."

As he desperately tried to keep his eyes straight ahead, Sam croaked out, "Yeah, it's a little hot in here at the moment."

As she pressed up against him, she noticed something else, and smiled. "Tell me, is that a naked mole rat in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

At that moment, Rufus popped out of Sam's front pocket and waved. "_Hello!_"

Thankful for the distraction, Sam quickly moved away from the temptress. "Ms. Shego, meet my other partner, Rufus. He won't work for peanuts, but he _will_ work for cheese."

Rufus nodded, rubbing his tummy and licking his lips.

Sam continued, "So, down to business." He thought to himself, "_And then a nice, long cold shower when I get back to my flat..._"

"I'm afraid I can't be of much help without some idea of what this is really about, Ms. Shego. Let's start with Itsy Tuesday."

Shego began, "Well, I met him in Greece last week, during some… physical therapy I needed. He promised to help me out when I was a little short of cash, but he took off suddenly and left me in the lurch."

"But why did you want him followed?

She waffled, "To find out how where he'd gone, whom he'd met, stuff like that.

Sam frowned. "I see. So, you think he shot Junior?"

"Of course! He's incredibly competitive when it comes to singing. And he's always heavily armed, since he's fanatical about protection. He never goes to sleep without first covering the floor with Bueno Nacho wrappers so that nobody can sneak silently into his room."

"Hmm, nice guy. So, you think you're actually in danger from this sap?"

Her lip trembled. "I'm not heroic. I don't think there's anything worse than death. Well, maybe having your TV series cancelled, but death is right up there."

"So who shot Itsy, your enemies or his?"

She again hesitated. "I don't know. His, I suppose. I… I really don't know."

Sam shook his head back and forth. "Sorry, shweetheart, but I'm not buying your little fairy tale. I've got a feeling you're not telling me everything, and now that Tuesday's in a coma, I don't know exactly what you want done."

"Here, maybe this will help." Shego removed something from her purse and handed it to Sam.

His eyes shot open. "Ooh! A 25-percent-off coupon for Zombie Detectives III, and a buy-one-get-one-free coupon for Jim and Tim's Philly Cheesesteak Hutch!"

Rufus chattered his approval.

Sam grabbed his hat, Rufus likewise donning his tiny fedora. "Okay, Ms. Shego, I'll be back soon with the best news I can. I'll ring four times so that you know it's me: long, long, short, short. Just like this…"

He demonstrated by buzzing the doorbell.

_Beep beep BEE beep._

"You don't have to bother to coming to the door. I'll just let myself in."

But as he recalled the femme fatale's rather overt display of interest, he quickly thought better of that idea.

"Uh, on second thought, maybe I should just knock first…"

* * *

Sam walked through the door of his agency. Waiting for him was a short, stocky, but well-dressed gentlemen with one very peculiar attribute. He was wearing a helmet which covered half of his face.

His shifty eyes peered out from beneath the slits in his helmet, and his mouth began to widen in a maniacal smile. He began speaking with a heavy German accent.

"Guten Tag. My name is Professor DeNile. My card?"

Sam took the proffered card and sniffed it. It reeked of sauerkraut.

He wrinkled his nose and asked, "Won't you come into my office, Professor?"

"Danke. May a schtranger offer condolences concerning your partner's unfortunate incident?"

"Sure. Thanks."

"Und ist zere, as zee newspapers imply, a zertain relationship betveen zat unfortunate happening und zee shooting of a man named Tuesday?

Rufus spoke up. "Mmmm, _could be!_"

He cocked an eyebrow at the tiny rodent. "Yes, of course. Undershtand zat more zan simply idle curiosity prompted my qvestion. You see, Mr. Schtoppable, I'm trying to recover... an ornament zat, shall vee say, has been mislaid. A VERY important ornament. VUN ZAT VOULD MAKE ME RICH BEYOND MY VILDEST TREAMS OF AVARICE! HA-HA-HA-HAH!"

Calming down, he quickly apologized. "Oops, sorry. I get carried avay about zertain things. I thought you could assist me. Zee ornament ist a statuette... a black figurine of a mole rat."

Rufus was instantly all ears.

"I am prepared to pay, on behalf of der figure's rightful owner, zee sum of $5000 for its recovery…"

He looked down at the expectant mole rat.

"… or its eqvivalent in any other form of tender acceptable to you. Say, cheddar, Sviss, or perhaps a delicious Gouda?"

Rufus began drooling in anticipation.

"I am prepared to promise zat, was ist der phrase... no qvestions vill be asked?"

Sam queried, "Well, I have a question, actually. Who exactly are you working…"

DeNile exploded. "I SAID NO QVESTIONS! DO YOU NOT HEAR A SINGLE VERD I HAF SAID? You vould think zat all zee money for English lessons vould haf paid off by now…"

At the sound of the Professor's outburst, Kimmie stuck her head through the door to make sure everything was okay. "Anything else you need, Sam? If not, I'll heading home now."

"No, that'll be all. Just be sure to lock the door on your way out. Good night."

As Kimmie left, she began playing a snappy Bavarian beer hall tune on her clarinet.

But as soon as she was gone, DeNile pulled out a gun and ordered, "You vill clasp your hands together at zee back of your neck! I intend to search your office, Mr. Schtoppable. Und I vorn you, if you attempt to prevent me, I shall zertainly shoot you. HA-HA-HA! Please schtand up. I must make zertain zat you are not armed."

Sam swiftly grabbed one of his water pistols and squirted him in the eyes, then bopped him on the head with a loud clang. As the Professor reflexively reached for his aching head, Sam gave him a sharp poke in the eyes, exclaiming, "Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk!"

Rufus wasted no time in sinking his teeth into the Professor's hand, causing him to drop his weapon. Ron quickly grabbed the lapel of his coat and retrieved his wallet, checking its contents.

Rubbing his eyes painfully, DeNile exclaimed, "Look vhat you did to mein shirt!"

Sam found another business card, this one smelling of apple strudel. But after finding only $200 in cash, he grinned back, "Sorry. But imagine my surprise at discovering that your $5000 offer was just a load of yesterday's warmed-over Nacos."

"Mr. Schtoppable, mein offer ist genuine. I am indeed prepared to pay top dollar for zee figure's return. Do you haf it?"

Sam tried to think quickly. "_If I say yes, he might come back another time and rifle through my office. But if I say no, then he might disappear without a trace. Ooh, I wish I could call Lt. Barkin real quick. He'd know exactly what to…_"

"Hello?" Professor DeNile furtively waved his hand in front of Sam's blank face. "Are you listenink to me? Do you hav it or not?"

Sam mumbled, "Uh, not at the moment?"

"But perhaps you could provide some information about its vereabouts, given enough… shall vee say, motivation? So vill you, to the extent of $500?"

Sam frowned. "But there's nothing like $500 here."

"Ah. So you vant some assurance of my zincerity? A retainer perhaps?"

He removed a small plastic item from his mouth and handed it to Sam.

Sam wiped the drool off of the orthodontic device and complained, "Uh, actually I had _cash_ in mind..."

Professor DeNile shrugged. "Vell, if you knew how much mein orthodontist charges, you vould be impressed, yes?"

He sighed. "Very vell. You vill take, say, $100?"

Sam smiled. "No. I will take, say, $200."

He put the money in his pocket and continued, "Your first guess was that I had the mole rat. There's nuthin' to that."

Rufus jumped up with an angry, "Hey!"

"Sorry little buddy. I meant I don't have the statuette."

Rufus quickly smiled back, "s'okay!"

"So, Professor, what's your second guess?"

"Zat you know vere you can obtain it, or at least vere it is, yes?"

Both Sam and Rufus chimed, "Mmmm, _could be!_"

"Ven you vish to contact me, I'm staying at zee Hotel Killigan, in der Fairway Room. I sincerely expect zee greatest mutual benefit from our association, Mr. Schtoppable. Ha-ha. _Ha-ha-hah! HAH-HAH-HAH-HAH! _Oh, und may I please haf mein gun back now?"

"Oh, sure. I forgot all about it."

As soon as Sam handed the gun back to him, DeNile instantly pointed it back at Sam. "You vill please clasp your hands together at zee back of your neck! I intend to search your office!"

Sam snickered, "Go right ahead, but you'll find it a little hard to shoot me with a water pistol."

DeNile looked down the gun barrel and pulled the trigger. A stream of water once again drenched his face.

"Ach, never mind…"

* * *

As Sam walked back to his flat in the gathering twilight, the evening fog rolled down the city street like a cloud, a relentless cool rolling cloud rolling down like a big metaphor that now seemed way too overused for some reason.

He thought to himself, "_For an average Joe, that Professor had given me an above-average clue. So it looked like I'd be having another little chat with Ms. Shego real soon in order to obtain a few more pieces of this puzzle. My next step was clear._"

But in the darkness he failed to see a large crack in the sidewalk, and tripped over it painfully.

"Ouch. Or maybe not…"

_**TBC...**_


	3. Information Please, And Thank You

_Many thanks to those who've reviewed so far: CajunBear73, Katsumara, Eddy13, Sentinel103, Dr. Rex Greylin, and readerjunkie. You've inspired me to even greater heights of incredulity, which might not be such a good thing considering my offbeat sense of humor. I can just hear Mr. Barkin saying, "For cripe's sake, don't encourage him!" Even so, here's the next installment in this entertaining tail… er, tale of cloak and dagger deviltry. And please, no injuring of yourselves if you fall out of your chairs laughing…_

* * *

Sam buzzed the doorbell of Shego's apartment at the Drakken Arms.

_Beep beep BEE beep._

Shego quickly answered the door. "Come in, Mr. Stoppable. Do you have any news for me?"

Sam smiled, "Maybe, maybe not."

She flashed him a perfect Puppy-Dog Pout.

He smiled wider. "You're good. You're _very_ good. But not good enough."

Shego heaved a small sigh, then dug into her purse and withdrew yet another gift certificate. This time it was for a free appetizer and dessert at Chez Couteaux.

He happily accepted it and declared, "Now you _are_ dangerous."

Shego asked, "Did you have much trouble?"

He slyly adjusted his tie. "Trouble is my middle name, shweetheart."

"Really? I thought it was Dean."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "Uh, you aren't exactly the sort of person you pretend to be, are you?"

She replied with the picture of innocence. "Why, I'm not sure I know exactly what you mean."

"Ya know, blushing, playing dumb and all that. You know a lot more than you're letting on. And then there's the schoolgirl routine. Playing sweet and innocent one minute and then coming on to me like gangbusters the next."

She sighed. "More like a naughty schoolgirl, really. I've been bad in the past. Very bad. Have you ever been… _bad_, Mr. Stoppable?"

He loosened his tie as it suddenly started to become very warm in the room again.

"Uh, yeah, but then Lt. Barkin would assign me extra homework or slap me into detention after school. Anyway, I'm glad you admit it, 'cause if you actually were as innocent as you pretend to be, we'd never get anywhere."

She grinned slyly back, "Then I won't be innocent."

She began to absentmindedly play with the buttons on the top of her blouse.

But before things could get out of hand, Sam quickly interjected, "By the way, I saw Professor DeNile tonight."

Shego's eyes went wide for moment before returning to normal. Sam was pleased at her sudden reaction.

"Ah, so you know him?"

"Only… in passing. Did he mention me?"

"No, but he offered me $5000 for the black rodent."

This time her eyebrows rose as well. He thought to himself, "_Ah, now I'm getting somewhere, other than just hot and bothered…_"

Shego tried to keep the interest out of her voice, but wasn't quite successful. "So, what did you say?"

"I said $5000 was a lot of money."

"It is. It's more than _I_ could ever offer you if I had to bid for your loyalty."

Sam complained, "That's real good coming from you. What have you ever given me besides money?"

She popped her top button.

"Uh, forget I asked that. I mean, have you ever given me any of your confidence, any truth? You have to convince me you aren't just fiddling around, hoping it'll all come out right in the end."

From the street below, a violin began playing Kreisler's _Liebesfreud._

Sam shook his head and thought, "_How does Kimmie do that?_"

Shego slowly drew a finger beneath Sam's chin and mewed, "Will you trust me just a _little_ longer? I just need to talk to Professor DeNile first."

"Sure. How about right now?"

"Yes, but he can't come here. I'm afraid to let him know where I'm staying."

"My place, then?"

She nodded. Sam picked up the phone and dialed a number.

"Hotel Killigan? Professor DeNile please… Hello, Professor? I have a Ms. Shego here who'd like to meet with you… How about my flat, say, in twenty minutes? Swell. Goodbye."

As they walked together to Sam's flat, Shego asked, "You'll let me deal with him then, in my own way?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

She purred back, "You are totally badical."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Now, let's not overdo it."

Shego suddenly got a strange feeling, and looked over her shoulder. "There seems to be someone following us, Sam."

"I know. I spotted him. He's been trailing me all evening. So I guess we have another player in this little game, huh?"

The mysterious figure stopped about a block from Sam's flat, just as Professor DeNile approached them from the other direction.

Sam unlocked his front door and said, "Won't you join us, Professor?"

He followed him in and addressed Shego. "I'm delighted to see you again, Fraulein."

"I was sure you would be, DeNile. Mr. Stoppable here told me about your offer for the mole rat. When will the money be ready?"

"It _is_ ready."

"In cash?"

"NEIN! IN ZEE EQVIVALENT OF APPLE STRUDEL! VAT DO YOU THINK? Ach, zeez schtupid qvestions really get mein blood pressure up…"

"So, you're ready to pay $5000 in cash if we turn the mole rat over to you?"

"Excuse me, I did not mean zat I haf zee money in mein pocket, but I am ready to get it for you on a few minutes' notice... anytime during bankink hours."

Shego hesitated. "But I haven't got the mole rat quite yet. I'll have it in another week at the most, though."

"Zen, vere is it?"

"Where Itsy hid it."

DeNile became more excited. "Itsy? You know vere he hid it? Zen vhy do vee haf to wait a week?"

"Perhaps not a whole week. Maybe just seven days."

"Ach, zat vould be good. Seven days is _much_ less time zan…"

He hit himself on the head as soon as he realized that he was being made fun of.

"You are just pulling mein leg, Shego! UND I DO NOT LIKE HAVING MEIN LEG PULLED! Only if I vas having some physical therapy, like _you_ so often do in Greece, yes? Und vhy may I ask, are you villing to sell it to me anyvay?"

She answered rather unconvincingly, "Because I'm afraid. After Itsy, I'm afraid to touch it except to sell it to somebody else."

"Zo, vat exactly _did _happen to Itsy?"

Shego swallowed convulsively. "The Big Daddy."

Sam noted with considerable interest that this was the first time she appeared honestly scared. _Really_ scared.

DeNile paled instantly himself. "Das Big Daddy? Ist he here?"

"I don't know. I suppose so. What difference would it make?"

"It might make a verld of difference."

"You're right, if it were just you and me."

"Precisely. But, must vee add, more certainly… zat boy shadowing us outside?"

"Yes. But you _could_ just rough him up, just like you did with that guy in Athens. What was his name?"

DeNile sneered back, "I may rough people up at times, Fraulein, but zat's because I don't use mein sexy good looks to get vatever I vant."

With a wide smile, Shego snarked back, "Well, I wouldn't worry too much about that. You're _hardly _in the running for Mr. Universe."

She continued with a snicker, "Maybe Mr. Cream Puff, though."

His face turned a dark shade of red as he angrily shot back, "DAS IST _HERR_ CREAM PUFF TO YOU, SHEGO!"

But before the argument could escalate any further, there was a knock at the door.

Shego asked, "Who's that?"

Sam whispered back, "I don't know. Keep quiet."

He went to the door and opened it a crack. "Well, hello, detectives. You guys sure pick swell hours to pay me a visit. What's up?"

Officer Hobble answered, "We need to talk to you, Sam."

"Go ahead and talk."

"Do we have to do it out here?"

"You can't come in. I'm, uh, about to give Rufus a bath."

"Come off it, Sam. There's talk about you and Junior's fiancée. Anything to it?"

"Nope, not a bon-diggety thing."

Lt. Barkin growled, "Talk is that she tried to break up with him, but he wouldn't do it. Claims he needed to prove himself first as the next teen pop sensation. Anything to _that?_"

Sam chuckled, "If you'd heard him sing, you wouldn't be asking that question, Lieutenant. And your lame idea that I shot Tuesday because he shot Junior crumbles into tiny pieces of nachos if I'm blamed for shooting Junior, too. So haven't you got anything better to do than to pop in here early every morning asking these wrongsick questions?"

Barkin snapped back, "And gettin' a lot of incomplete answers, Stoppable. So I'm giving you an _F!_"

He thrust a paper with red checkmarks and a huge circled "F" at the top into Sam's face.

"Sorry, but I've already graduated, Lieutenant. And you're still not coming in."

Hobble finally relented. "All right, Sam, we'll go. Maybe you're right, but think it over."

Suddenly, a huge _fwoosh_ was heard along with a bright flash of green light from behind Sam, followed by a cry for help from Professor DeNile.

Hobble decisively announced, "I guess we're comin' in."

Sam agreed, "Yup, I guess you are."

Lt. Barkin took one look at Shego and the Professor and barked, "What's going on here?"

DeNile whined, "Look, Officer! Look vat she did!"

DeNile's clothing was scorched and smoking, his face blackened by Shego's plasma attack.

Officer Hobble growled, "Did you do that?"

"Do what, Officer?" She batted her eyes coquettishly at the officer, who didn't look the least bit convinced.

DeNile argued back, "Das ist zo not true! I came up here in good faith, und suddenly both of zem attacked me! Zen ven he vent out to talk to you he left her here alone with me. She said as soon as you leave they'll chop me up into so much bratwurst, so I called for help. Und zen she fired up those green hands of hers…"

Shego merely smiled at Hobble and held up two perfectly normal flameless hands, having already extinguished her plasma. She motioned toward DeNile. "Why don't you make _him_ tell the truth?"

Hobble responded with a disgruntled wag of his head. "Faith and begorrah, but I don't guess we'll be wrong runnin' the whole lot of 'em in."

Sam waved his hand dismissively. "Pfft! Don't be in a hurry, Officer. Everything can be explained."

Barkin sneered, "I'll bet."

"Ms. Shego, meet Detective Hobble and Lieutenant Barkin."

He turned to the officers. "Ms. Shego is my henchwoman since yesterday. I've been trying to encourage her to know her place, but she's, uh, still a work in progress."

DeNile screamed, "Zat is a lie, too!"

Sam continued, "And _that_ is Professor DeNile. He was an acquaintance of Tuesday's, and hired me to find something he had on him when he was shot. It sounded a little sick and wrong the way he put it, so I wouldn't touch it. Then he pulled a gun on me, which is neither here nor there, unless we all decide to start preferrin' charges against each other. Later Ms. Shego and I decided to find out exactly how much he knew about the shootings, so we asked him to come here. Now, maybe we _did _intimidate him a bit, but we didn't hurt him enough to make him cry for help."

Sam grinned. "But you know how _that_ is, don't you, Lieutenant?"

This earned him an angry growl from Barkin.

Hobble snapped his head at the Professor and demanded, "What have you got to say to that?"

He shrugged. "I don't know vat to say."

"Let's start with the facts."

"Vat facts?"

Hobble was quickly losing patience. "Quit stallin!' Just swear out a complaint they took a swipe at you and I'll throw 'em all in the cooler."

Sam chuckled, "Go ahead, Professor. Then we'll swear out a complaint against you and he'll have every last one of us."

Hobble had just about had all that he could take. "All right, let's go everybody!"

Sam joked, "C'mon, Detective! Don't you know when you're getting the wool pulled over your eyes? When I heard the buzzer, I said, 'There's the police again. They're getting so pesky! So, Professor, when you hear them, scream like a girl, then pretend you're about to activate a doomsday device in order to take over the world. Then Shego will pretend that she's got awesome plasma powers after getting hit with a comet when she was a kid, and I'll pretend I've got some coolio mystical monkey powers of my own, then…' "

Hobble yelled. "Stop it, Sam!"

The officer turned back to DeNile. "OK, so how _did_ you get all burnt like that?"

Suddenly the picture of innocence, he weakly replied, "Oh, _these_ burns? Ven I vas lighting zee fireplace, I schlipped und fell down."

Hobble angrily waved his hands. "Ah, take him along anyway, for packin' a gun."

Sam joked, "Don't be a sap, Lieutenant. That gun was a plant, it's one of mine. Too bad it's only a water pistol, or you could prove it was the gun that Tuesday was shot with."

Barkin growled, "We're takin' him in anyway. And you just watch yourself, Stoppable. This ain't over by a long shot."

Sam smiled weakly as he thought to himself, "_Yeah, that's exactly what I'm afraid of…_"

After they all left, Shego simply shook her head in wonder. "You're absolutely the craziest, most unpredictable person I've ever met. Are you always this unfocused and random?"

Sam grinned back, "Just my power of imagination, that's all. It's gotten me out of worse fixes, I'll tell you. And now that you've had your little talk with DeNile, you can talk to _me_. So, what's this mole rat statuette that everybody's all steamed up about?"

Shego folded her arms before slyly continuing, "Suppose I refuse to tell you anything about it? Would you do something wild and unpredictable?"

"I might. I could try blowing up some other villain's doomsday device, but that's really Rufus' job. Or maybe I could suddenly turn into my evil alter-ego, Zorpox the Conqueror. Then there's that Mystical Monkey Power of mine, but that sorta comes and goes, so I can't really count on…"

Shego threw up her hands. "All right! You win! Just please stop with that random stream of consciousness of yours. It reminds me too much of Itsy, and it's really getting on my nerves."

"All right then, spill."

Shego took a deep breath. "Okay. It's a black figure as you know, smooth and shiny, of some kind of rodent or mole rat, about yay high."

"What makes it so important?"

"I don't know. They wouldn't tell me. They offered me $5000 if I'd help get it away from the man who had it, so I did. Then we found out that Professor DeNile intended to desert us, taking the mole rat with him, so we took off without him. But I wasn't any better off than before. Itsy had no intention of keeping his promise about sharing equally. I'd learned that when we got here."

"So, what's the rat made of?"

"Porcelain, black stone, maybe it was encrusted within a charbroiled Naco for all I know. I only saw it once for a few minutes. Itsy showed it to me when we first got hold of it."

"Sounds like another one of your fairy tales, Ms. Shego. You're a liar."

She gave a small shrug. "Of course I am. I've always been a liar."

Sam frowned. "Don't brag about it. Was there any truth at all in that little bedtime story?"

She replied with a slight grin. "So you want a bedtime story, Mr. Stoppable? I'd be happy to… tuck you in."

Sam pulled at his suddenly tight collar. "Heh-heh, thanks for the offer, but let's stay on track, por favor?"

Shego heaved an exasperated sigh. "Very well. There was some truth in it, but not very much."

"Now you're sounding like a politician. So, who's this Big Daddy you and the Professor were talking about?"

He began slurping on a soda, and got the strange feeling that someone else should have been doing that while providing him with the real scoop.

"I… I can't say right now. And I'm so tired of lying and making up lies. Not knowing what's a lie and what's the truth..."

"You really should try running for office, Ms. Shego. You'd be a shoe-in. Well then, you'd best be going now. Tomorrow's going to be another busy day."

As Shego left, Sam turned out the light as if he were preparing for bed. But he and Rufus snuck a peek from behind the curtains instead, and caught Ms. Shego briefly talking to the mysterious figure who had been tailing them.

"Well, well. Curiouser and curiouser, huh, little buddy? Looks like another little chat with Professor DeNile is in order."

Rufus nodded back in cheerful agreement. "_Uh-huh! Uh-huh!_"

"Yes, tomorrow's going to be another busy day..."

_**TBC…**_


	4. Big Daddy

_My thanks for everyone's patience while waiting for the new chapter. I hope it was worth the wait! And many thanks to readerjunkie, Katsumara, Sentinel103, Eddy13, Cajunbear73 and Reader101w for reviewing, and everyone else for reading._

* * *

The next morning, Sam walked up to the front desk of the Hotel Killigan.

"I'd like to speak with Professor DeNile, please."

While the clerk rang his room, Sam felt like he was being watched. He turned around and spotted a pair of shifty eyes glaring back at him from behind a newspaper. Those eyes belonged to the young man who'd been tailing him for the past two days. He didn't look much older than a boy, but he definitely had an attitude a mile long. Sam smothered a laugh when he noticed that his newspaper was upside down.

Sam walked over to him and asked, "So, where is he?"

The mysterious teen frowned. "What?"

"I said, where is he?"

"Who do you think you are, kiddin' me?"

"I'll tell you when I'm kiddin' or not. Global Justice dropout, aren't you?"

"Get lost."

"You'll have to talk to me before you're through, and you can tell Big Daddy I said so."

The teen growled back, "Keep askin' for it and you're gonna get it. I told you to get lost!" He continued with a smug grin. "I'm a highly trained professional, and an expert in 16 different forms of surveillance."

Sam gave him a dismissive wave of his hand. "Well, you may consider yourself an expert, but I spotted you two days ago. And I've already noticed about 15 of those forms, so I can't say I'm terribly impressed."

The boy was fuming by now. "Oh, yeah? Well, you're obviously just an _amateur_, so take a hike!"

Sam merely smiled back. "Say, people lose their opportunity for another guest appearance talkin' like that. If you want to hang around, you'll need to be more polite. Oh, and don't forget to give your boss my message."

The boy just glared back at him. Just then, Professor DeNile walked in the door. Sam smiled and approached him.

"Hi, Professor. Can we talk?"

DeNile appeared a bit disheveled and unsteady on his feet. "Guten Morgen, Herr Schtoppable. Apologies, but our conversations have not been such zat I am anxious to continue zem. Forgive my speaking zo bluntly, but it is zee truth."

Sam laughed, "Oh, you mean that business with the police last night? Hey, what could I do? I don't know where that statuette is, and neither do you. But Ms. Shego does. How'll we get it if I don't string them along?"

From behind them, the strum of a gentle guitar chord was heard. A flash of red hair could be seen as the female guitarist swiftly left the room.

Sam sighed as DeNile continued, "You alvays have a very smooth explanation ready, yes? Perhaps I should learn to act totally goofy, random and unfocused, just like you?"

Sam winced. "Uh, well, maybe that's not such a bad idea. So, did Hobble take you downtown for some grilling? And for how long?"

"Yes, until just a little vile ago."

"What'd they get out of you?"

"Get out of me? Nothing. I schtuck to zee explanation zat you indicated, but I vish you vould haf invented a more reasonable story. I felt distinctly like an idiot repeating it."

"Don't worry about the story's goofiness. A sensible one would have lost most of our readers. You sure you didn't tell 'em anything?"

"I did not."

"Well, you'll want to catch some shuteye, if you've been under a police grilling all night."

DeNile replied with a hiccup. "Actuvally, zey interviewed me at zee local bar und grill. Zey let me go after I said it is appearing zat zey are all out of zee buffalo wings…"

Sam then noticed that the Professor's hands were smeared with barbeque sauce, and a whiff of his breath carried the distinct aroma of German beer.

Sam smirked, "Yeah, it must have been rough. I guess I'll see ya' later…"

A few minutes later, Sam walked back into his office. Kimmie was talking to someone on the phone, and gave him a longsuffering look.

"No, not yet. Yes, I'll have him call you the minute he comes in."

She hung up disgustedly. "That's the third time Bonnie's called this morning asking for a date with you, Sam. Oh, and Ms. Shego's in there, Mr. Popularity."

He responded a bit sheepishly, "Heh-heh, thanks Kimmie. Anything else?"

"Yes, the District Attorney's office called. Dr. Director wants to see you. And a Mr. Jasper Fatgut called. He said 'Please tell him the young man gave me his message, and that I phoned and will phone again.' "

Sam scratched his chin. "Fatgut, huh? Thanks, Kimmie."

He walked into his inner office, where Shego was anxiously waiting for him. "Sam! Somebody's ransacked my apartment! I came over as fast as I could. Could that boy have followed you?"

"No, angel. I shook him off long before I ever went to your place. But it might have been DeNile. He wasn't at the hotel last night, and he told me just a little while ago that he'd been standing up under a police grilling."

He rubbed his chin. "Or was that standing at the grill with the police?"

Shego looked surprised. "You saw DeNile this morning? But why?"

"Because, my green angel, I need to keep in touch with all the loose ends of this bon-digetty affair if I'm ever going to make any sense of it. And when I finally figure out exactly what's going on, I'm sure I'll need to write a 500 word essay on it for Lt. Barkin. In the meantime, we've got to find a new place for you to stay, and I think I've got an idea."

He stepped back into the outer office and whispered, "Kimmie, what's your woman's intuition say about Ms. Shego?"

She frowned. "Does the phrase, '500 miles of bad road' strike a bell with you? I think it's her own fault for all the trouble she's in. But she's still a client, I guess. Why do you ask?"

Sam gave her a weak smile. "Uh, well, then I've got a big favor to ask. Do you think she can stay with you for a little while?"

Kimmie responded with a shocked look. "You mean at _my_ place?"

"Uh, yeah."

She thought it over for a moment. "It depends. You think she's in any danger, Sam?"

"Yeah, I think so."

She tapped her chin as she thought it over. "Gosh, I think she'd scare poor Dad right into a hemorrhage, but Mom can do brain surgery on a moment's notice, so I guess so. But you know he already wants to launch you into the nearest Black Hole, and this won't be helping matters any. So I'll just say she's a surprise witness you're keeping undercover."

Sam sighed in relief. "Thanks. I owe you one, shweetheart."

He called into the next room, "Ms. Shego, Kimmie's offered to put you up temporarily. But you should start now."

He turned to Kimmie. "Go out the back: there's usually a cab parked by the alley. Have her switch cabs at least once just to make sure she's not followed."

Kimmie and Shego immediately left and quickly found the cab. The driver was a portly young black man, looking barely older than just a boy. He was calmly slurping on a soda.

Shego gave him the once over, then queried, "Uh, aren't you a little young to be a cabbie?"

He politely responded, "Why yes, yes I am. Where to, Miss?"

Kimmie gave the young man the directions, then went back upstairs. As the cab pulled away, Shego leaned over the front seat. "Okay, Cablinger. Change in destination. The Hotel Brotherson, and step on it."

Meanwhile, back in Sam's office, the phone rang. Sam answered it.

"Hello? Yeah, this is Sam Stoppable. Yes, Mr. Fatgut, I got your message. You'd like to meet? How about right now? Yeah, I agree, the sooner, the better. Say in about twenty minutes? And your boy will meet me downstairs to show me the way? Good."

He hung up and proceeded downstairs. Waiting for him was his tail of the last few days, who went by the name of Wilmer Crook.

Will snarled, "Come on, the Big Daddy wants to see you."

Sam wagged his finger at the young man. "Yeah, and I want to see him too."

He moved his hand back and forth just in front of Will's face, first moving it right, then left, then down under his chin. Just as Will looked down, Sam brought his hand up quickly, catching him painfully on the nose.

Sam happily exclaimed, "WHOOP-whoop-whoop-woo-woo!"

He followed up with a quick poke of his fingers into Will's eyes. While Will winced in pain, Sam swiftly relieved him of his weapons.

"Nyuck, nyuck, nyuck! Gets 'em every time! This'll put you in _real_ solid with your boss. Ok, kid, let's go."

A short time later they walked into a magnificently appointed hotel room and came face to face with Jasper Fatgut, otherwise known as the Big Daddy. To say that he was larger than life was an understatement. Dressed in a tailored leisure suit, he was nearly as wide as he was tall, and Sam estimated that he easily exceeded 300 pounds.

Sam began, "How do you do, Mr. Fatgut?"

He gave a gregarious, if oily response. "Come in, come in, please. Thank you so much for stopping by."

Sam smirked as he handed Will's guns to him. "Here. You shouldn't let your kid here wander around with these. He might hurt himself."

Big Daddy exclaimed, "Well, what's all this?"

Sam drawled, "A crippled Pixie Scout took 'em away from him, but I made her give 'em back."

Big Daddy began to laugh, his jowls shaking in pleasure. "Indeed, sir, you're a chap worth knowing. Sam Stoppable, I presume? Give me your hat and please have a seat."

Sam took the proffered seat, and immediately began to sink deep into the overstuffed couch.

Nearly smothering, he struggled to sit back up. "Wow, you could lose small animals in here."

Big Daddy grabbed a glass. "Soda?"

Sam nodded, and Big Daddy began pouring Sam a drink. He smiled as Sam let him fill the glass to the top.

"You begin well, sir. I distrust any man who says 'when'. He needs to be careful not to drink too much, because he knows he can't be trusted when he does. Well, sir, here's to straight speaking and clear understanding. Cheers."

Sam tapped his glass to Big Daddy's and responded in kind. "Here's mud in your eye."

Big Daddy replied, "Where?"

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

Big Daddy shot back, "Who?"

Sam began to catch on. "When?"

"How?"

"Why?"

Big Daddy continued to laugh heartily. "Ah, I see you've done your homework. I like to play games, and you just passed my first little test. Tell me, are you a close-mouthed man?"

Sam answered, "No, I like to talk. Most people actually find it hard to shut me up sometimes. Usually it's Kimmie, but more often it's Officer Barkin. Come to think of it, I think I really do it just to get his goat. I just love it when his temperature starts to rise, just like a thermometer. Actually, more like a tea kettle on slow boil…"

Big Daddy gave him a sidelong look and muttered under his breath, "Hmm. Perhaps he's a bit _too_ talkative, however..."

But out loud he continued, "Better and better. I distrust a close-mouthed man. He usually picks the wrong time to talk and says the wrong things. Now, sir, let's talk, if you like. I'll tell you right out. I'm a man who likes talking to a man who likes to talk."

"Coolio! Can we talk about the black rodent?"

"Well, no beating about the bush with you I see. Direct and right to the point. So, let's talk about the black rodent, by all means. But first, please answer me a question. Are you here as Ms. Shego's representative?"

Sam replied cagily, "Maybe, maybe not. It depends."

"And what might it depend on?"

"Maybe it depends on Professor DeNile."

Big Daddy nodded in understanding. "The question is, which one do you represent? I assume that it's one or the other, unless there's someone else?"

Sam smiled, "Well, there's _me_."

"That's excellent, sir! I appreciate a man who tells you right out he's looking out for himself. Now, let's talk about the black mole rat. Mr. Stoppable, have you any inkling of how much money that figurine is worth?"

Sam shook his head. "Uh-uh."

"Well, if I even told you half, you'd call me a liar."

"Probably not, but you tell me what it is, and I'll figure out the profit."

Big Daddy looked surprised. "You mean, you don't know what that mole rat really _is_?"

"Well, I know what it's _supposed_ to look like, and I know the value in gift certificates you people put on it."

"Shego didn't tell you what it is? DeNile didn't either?"

"No, but he offered me $1000 for it."

"A thousand _dollars_, mind you, not even pounds! So, what's your impression?"

"I'm sorry, I don't do impressions. But I can play the spoons, and play _Home on the Range_ with my armpits."

Big Daddy rolled his eyes at the thought of that, as Sam continued.

"Ms. Shego said she didn't know much about it, but I assumed she was lying."

Big Daddy nodded. "Yes, not an injudicious thing to do."

Sam grinned back, "So, you know _what_ it is. I know _where _it is."

"So it would seem. Well, sir, where is it then?"

"No dice, Mr. Fatgut. Not until I know a little more about what this thing really is. You seem to be the man behind all of this, anyway."

"Yes, I'm the Brain behind the search for this precious object, Mr. Stoppable."

"Yeah? Well don't think that you can just wrap me around your Pinky. I have a badly wounded partner in the hospital, probably because of you."

Big Daddy tapped his fingers together as he considered this.

"Very well, then. Let's talk about the black mole rat. Let me begin by saying that I am a collector of rare objects. I had spent years searching for another rare item, the Spruce Goose. But the Maltese Mole Rat is worth so much more by sheer magnitude, that I've made it my life's goal to find it, and possess it."

Sam was intrigued, realizing he was finally getting to the bottom of the mystery. "Go on."

"This is going to be the most amazing thing you've ever heard, and I say this knowing a man of your profession must have seen some amazing things in his time. Tell me, what do you know of the Order of the Hospital of Saint Anne at Middleton, later known as the Knights of Rodigan?"

"Uh, Crusaders or something, weren't they?"

"Very good! In 1592, these crusading Knights persuaded Wallace I of Rodigan to give them the island of Malta. He made only one condition, that they pay him a yearly tribute of a naked mole rat in acknowledgement that Malta was still under Rodigan rule. Do you have you any idea of the immeasurable wealth of the Order of that time?"

Sam shrugged. "Pretty well, I imagine. They probably felt the same as I did when I got that $99 million check for inventing the Naco."

" 'Pretty well' is putting it mildly. They were rolling in dough, sir. For years they'd taken from the East who knows what spoils of gems and precious metals. We know that the Holy Wars to them were also a matter of pillage and plunder, and the Knights were profoundly grateful to Wallace I for his generosity. They decided to send for his first year's tribute, not a measly live mole rat but a glorious golden naked mole rat, encrusted from head to toe with the finest jewels in their stash. Well, sir, what do you think of that?"

Rufus popped out of Sam's pocket and proudly exclaimed, "_Bon diggety! Uh-huh! Uh-huh!_"

Big daddy chuckled. "These are historical facts, Mr. Stoppable. Not schoolbook history, not H.G. Wells' history, whereby an actor recently faked a radio broadcast about Earth being invaded by Martians and throwing the country into a panic, but history, nevertheless."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I heard about that. They were really Lorwardians."

Big Daddy offered him a very strange look.

Sam pulled at his collar. "Uh, never mind. Different story. Please continue."

"In any case, they sent the foot-high jeweled mole rat back to Wallace I in a galley commanded by a member of the Order, but it never reached Rodigan. A famous buccaneer, Black Eye Brown, captured the Knights' galley and the Maltese Mole Rat, then disappeared into history. Recently it reappeared in Greece, then in each of the eleven countries that Ms. Shego is currently wanted in. Lastly, it appeared back in Athens. By this time, it had acquired a coat of black enamel and looked like nothing more than an intriguing black statuette. In that disguise, it was kicked around for over three score years by collectors too blind to see what it was under its skin. Then a Greek dealer named Midas Goldentouchinides found it in an obscure curio shop. No coating of enamel could conceal its true value from _his_ eyes, however. Perhaps you begin to believe me a little?"

Sam slyly offered, "Mmm, _could_ be…"

"Well, sir, Midas re-enameled the bird. Despite this precaution, however, I got wind of his find. I packed a bag right away and boarded a boat for Europe. But on the boat I read in the Middleton Gazette that his establishment had been burglarized, and Midas had been murdered. After several more years of fruitless searching, I traced it to the home of an American general by the name of Sims, who had apparently picked it up as booty during the Great War. He didn't seem to know a thing about it. It was only a black enameled figurine to him, but his wariness kept him from selling it to me, when I made him an offer. So I sent him my accomplices to procure it. Well, sir, _they_ got it and I _haven't_ got it, but I'm _going_ to get it.

Sam thought to himself, "_You can say that again, pal._"

Out loud he asked, "Then, the mole rat doesn't really belong to any of you, but to a General Sims?"

Big Daddy harrumphed, "Well, sir, you might as well say it belonged to the Governor of Colorado. I don't see how you can honestly grant anyone a clear title to it, except by right of possession. And now, sir, before we start to talk price, how soon can you produce the item?"

Sam thought quickly. "Maybe a week. But with luck I might have it in seven days."

"That would be satisfactory. Seven days is _much_ shorter than…"

He put his head in his fat hand and heaved a small sigh, but then perked up with a laugh. "Very good, sir, very good! You're learning to play games with _me_. I'm impressed! So here's to a fair bargain, and profits big enough for both of us! I will give you $50,000 when you deliver the mole rat to me, and another $50,000 later on, plus all the gift certificates your heart could possibly desire. Or, I will give you one quarter of what I realize on the mole rat. That would amount to a _much _greater amount."

Sam cautiously asked, "How much greater?"

Big Daddy chuckled, his large girth jiggling with pleasure. "What would you say to $99 million?"

Sam's eyes bugged out. "Holy guacamole! That would make up for all that money I lost after inventing the Naco!"

With an evil twinkle in his eye, Big Daddy gleefully rubbed his hands together. "So, I ask you again. Where is the Maltese Mole Rat hidden?"

Sam remained evasive, however. "Well, that's a really coolio story, Mr. Fatgut, but I think I'll keep its location a secret for the moment. I think that might just keep me alive until I can retrieve the statuette and, uh, conclude our business, don't you agree?"

Big Daddy heaved a small sigh and refilled Sam's glass, which Sam gratefully drank. "Very well. How about another game then? Charades, perhaps?"

"Sure!"

Big Daddy began by giving some air quotes.

Sam responded, "Uh, a saying?"

Big Daddy nodded and held up four very fat fingers.

"Ok, four words."

He next held up one finger.

"First word."

He pointed at Sam.

"Me?"

He shook his head and turned his hands over.

"Oh, the opposite. You?"

He stretched his hands slightly.

"Ah, a longer word. Your?"

Big Daddy touched his nose to indicate Sam was correct, then held up two fingers.

"Second word."

He began to pantomime guzzling a beverage.

"Um, drinking?"

He squeezed his hands together.

"Oh, shorter. Drink?"

Big Daddy again touched his nose. Ron suddenly began to feel rather strange, but still tried his best to concentrate. Big Daddy held up three fingers.

Sam's speech began to slur. "Uhh, thhird word?"

He squeezed his thumb and forefinger together.

Big Daddy's huge form began to swim before Sam's eyes as he desperately tried to focus. "Ssmall wword. It? The? Is?"

Big Daddy broke out in a smile and once again touched his nose, then held up four fingers.

"Yyeahh, Fffitthh wworrd."

He gave a quick stabbing motion as Sam began to sway unsteadily. He felt as if he were about to pass out.

"Er, pierce? Poke? Shtab?"

He beckoned with his hands to indicate Sam was on the right track.

"Spike? Spiked! _Your drink is spiked!_" Sam grinned giddily. The last thing he saw before he passed out onto the floor was Big Daddy touching his nose and laughing heartily. From the other room, Prof. DeNile and Ms. Shego appeared.

"Vell, vat are vee going to do now, Big Daddy?"

Shego crossed her arms and smirked, "Yeah, good going, Fatgut. He can't tell us very much if he's in La-La Land."

Big Daddy waved a fat condescending hand as he pulled out a newspaper with the shipping news circled.

"Patience, my friends. A certain ship from Greece is docking in port even as we speak, upon which may be the very item that we seek. So let us be on our way: our destiny awaits!"

In the distance, police sirens began to wail. They all began to look apprehensive as Big Daddy continued.

"New game, ladies and gentlemen: hide and seek. We run and hide as quickly as possible, and hope that the police don't start seeking us until after we reach the docks, and Mr. Stoppable here has regained consciousness."

As they left, Will snickered as he turned back to the unconscious Sam, unable to resist one last parting shot.

"_Amateur_…"

_**To Be Concluded…**_


	5. Play It Again, Sam

_At long last, the exciting conclusion! Mysteries solved! Questions answered! Buttons popped! Sides split! And Danke schoen to all those who have enjoyed my good-natured skewering of this venerable classic, especially Eddy13, CajunBear73, Katsumara, readerjunkie, and Reader101w. _

* * *

Sam slowly awakened as Rufus continued to chatter in his ear, desperately trying to revive his friend.

"Ooh, my poor head. How long was I out?"

Rufus held up two tiny fingers.

"Oh, man! No more charades, please!"

Rufus giggled in reply and pointed at the clock.

"Oh, two _hours_. Sorry, little buddy."

"S'okay!" the mole rat cheerfully replied.

Rufus began chattering again as he stuck a newspaper under Sam's nose. The shipping news lay open before him, with the arrival time of a particular ship circled.

"The _Capullo de Rosa_? Looks like Big Daddy has a particular interest in this ship."

He picked up the phone and quickly dialed a number.

"Hi, Kimmie? It's me. I need to talk to Ms. Shego. What? She never showed up at your place? Well, you better get back to the office pronto. I'll meet you there as soon as I freshen up. Mr. Fatgut spiked my drink. No, I'm all right, but be careful, okay shweetheart?"

As soon as he walked out of the Hotel Brotherson, several fire trucks roared by. It didn't take him long to figure out where they were headed. In the distance, smoke was rising from the nearby port. He quickly made his way to the docks, only to discover the _Capullo de Rosa _enveloped in flames.

He looked down at Rufus and muttered, "Looks like they beat us to it." Rufus whimpered back in concern.

Sam flagged down one of the firemen. "Excuse me, but someone I know might have come aboard this afternoon. I'm worried because I haven't seen her since."

The fireman answered, "No worries, Mister. Only the Harbor Watch was aboard when she caught fire. He said he heard a big whoosh and saw a green flame, then the whole engine room caught fire."

Rufus hissed, "_Shego!_"

Sam agreed. "You said it, little buddy. But is she working alone, or is she in cahoots with Big Daddy? We better get back to the office."

As soon as Sam walked through his office door, Kimmie rushed up and gave him a big hug.

"Sam, are you okay? When I didn't hear from you, I feared the worst."

He rubbed his head and replied, "Nah, I'm all right, but I suspect that Ms. Shego has added arson to her list of possible crimes."

He quickly brought her up to speed on what Big Daddy had revealed to him about the Maltese Mole Rat.

"Now you know as much as I do, Kimmie."

"But do you believe him? That's quite a fish story."

"Actually, I think the mole rat's a mammal. A rodent, in point of fact."

Rufus popped out of his pocket, happily shaking his head in agreement. Kimmie merely rolled her eyes.

Just then, the phone rang. Sam picked it up.

"Sam Stoppable."

A commanding female voice began to speak.

"Well, it's about time Mr. Stoppable. I've been trying to reach you all afternoon."

"Oh, hey, Dr. Director! And to what do I owe the exquisite pleasure of your courteous call?"

"You can turn off the charm, Mr. Stoppable. It doesn't work on me. You've been in contact lately with a certain Shego O'Shaughnessy. And depending on who you talk to, she's either your client or your sidekick, according to Lt. Barkin. Furthermore, she was spotted leaving the scene of a suspicious fire that broke out aboard the _Capullo de Rosa_ just over an hour ago. Care to make a statement?"

"Uh, Mt. Middleton is 3650 feet high. How about that?"

"Oh, a wise guy, huh? Attempted murder and arson are considered serious crimes in this city, Mr. Stoppable."

"Uh, yeah, I know that, Dr. Director. I think I know who's behind it all, but I'm not completely sure yet."

"Well, would you care to take a guess?"

"Not for another two hours."

"You can't take a guess for another two hours?"

"No, I mean I'll probably know a little more then. My momma didn't raise no fool, and I'm not about to float any theories, especially in front of a District Attorney, until I have this case wrapped up like a fresh Naco."

"All right Mr. Stoppable. The ball's in your court. Just don't drop it."

As he hung up, he rubbed the sore spot on his face where he had repeatedly hit himself with his paddleball only a few days before. The irony of Dr. Director's comment didn't escape him.

"Well, Kimmie, the DA's on my back now. I better figure out what's going on before I get thrown in the slammer for attempted murder and as an accessory to arson."

Kimmie nodded. "Okay, Sam. So what do we do next?"

Just then, a heavy scuffing was heard just outside the door. Sam opened it and came face to face with an ancient mariner who looked every bit like a buccaneer from the days of yore. He was holding a bulky object wrapped in heavy cloth, and was bleeding from several gunshot wounds.

Kimmie picked up an accordion and began playing a tune that sounded suspiciously like a theme park ride featuring a pirate ship.

The stranger collapsed into a chair and whispered one word before expiring.

"_Rosebud_…"

Kimmie cocked an eyebrow. "Rosebud?"

Sam nodded knowingly. "Rosebud was his ship. That's what _Capullo de Rosa_ means in English. And it's also the ship that just got torched."

He searched the pirate's pockets for his ID.

"Yup, just as I suspected. Blackeye Brown, and after all these years."

Kimmie's mouth dropped open in astonishment. "What? Blackeye Brown, the famous pirate? That's impossible! Why, he'd have to be almost 400 years old!"

Sam waved his hands back and forth. "Yeah, and he sure smells like it."

She huffed, "You know what I mean, Sam."

"Well, Kimmie, anything's possible in a Possible fanfic, I guess. So, let's take a look at what Santa brought us."

He unwrapped the cloth from the object. It was further wrapped up in brown paper tied up with string. Underneath the paper was a box. And inside the box was the item, encased in bubble-wrap.

"Wow, is this thing well-packed or what?"

"Shall I play some mysterious background music to increase the dramatic tension, Sam?"

"Nah, I almost got it.

Finally unwrapped, he placed the object on the table and began slowly turning it around so both of them could get a good look.

Before them stood the Maltese Mole Rat. The light brilliantly reflected off of the enigmatic figurine's shiny black exterior.

"So _this_ is what all the fuss has been about. And we've got it, Kimmie! We've got it! Too bad Blackeye Brown couldn't have stayed alive long enough to tell us anything about the thing."

The phone rang again. This time Kimmie answered it.

"Hello? Oh, yes, Ms. Shego. Where did you say?"

A terrific scream was heard from over the phone. Then the line went dead.

"Hello? Hello! Sam, it was Ms. Shego. She needs you! It sounded like she's in terrible danger!"

"Where is she?"

"She gave an address in the East Bay, about 20 miles from here. You better try and help her."

"All right. But first I better stash this mole rat thingy in my high school locker for safe keeping. In the meantime, call the police and tell 'em what happened, but no names, no statuette, and _I _got the call from Ms. Shego. Then go home and get some rest. I'll call you later after I find her."

"Just be careful, Sam. Please and thank you?"

The sultry sound of saxophone began wafting through the small office, but this time it wasn't Kimmie who was playing it.

"I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you, Sam."

Moving with graceful sensuality, she slinked closer to him. The heat coming off her body was palpable.

"So come back in one piece, okay?"

She ran a finger languorously beneath his chin. He barely managed to squeak out, "Yeah, uh, sure."

Kimmie was now mere inches away from him, her emerald eyes locked on his. He knew now that he could get lost forever in those lucid orbs, and was sorely tempted to kiss those ruby red lips. He was almost overcome with a nearly irresistible urge to reach out to caress her supple figure, to feel the thrill of her divine loveliness pressed close to his body, possible sexual harassment charges notwithstanding.

"_Of all the secretaries in all the detective agencies in all the world, and she has to work in mine…"_

He pulled at his collar and stammered out, "Uh, Kimmie, could you call building management first thing in the morning and tell them that, er, the air conditioning is on the fritz again?"

He was just about to fall into her desperate embrace when he noticed who was playing the sax.

"Rufus!"

The clever little mole rat broke out in a devious snicker. The spell now broken, Sam quickly moved away from Kimmie. He began mopping his brow as he chastised his little friend.

"What do you think you're doing, trying to set us up for the obligatory kissing scene? The movie's not over yet!"

Rufus returned Sam's accusation with a self-conscious shrug of his tiny shoulders.

"Well, it'll have to wait until later, especially when our client's in danger, little buddy!"

He left as quickly as he could, leaving behind a very frustrated Kimmie. She stomped on the floor in annoyance.

"Dang it, Rufus! I was so close! But thanks for trying."

Rufus sighed and muttered, "_Maybe next time_…"

An hour later, Sam sauntered back to the cab where his driver had been waiting patiently for him. Disappointment and concern etched his features.

"Wild goose chase, Sam?"

"Afraid so, Wade. The only person at the address Ms. Shego gave was some middle-aged guy redubbing Kim Possible episodes to the music of Mahler. Talk about sick and wrong. Oh well, better take me home."

Another hour later, Sam climbed out of the cab. Waiting for him in the shadows was Ms. Shego. In the darkness, her gardenia perfume was overwhelming.

He coughed out, "Wow, that fragrance is pretty heady."

She snapped back, "That's Headly."

He raised a questioning eyebrow. "Headly?"

She smoothly replied, "Yeah, that's the brand name of my perfume."

He sighed back, "Yes, yes of course."

Shego began to sway slightly.

Concerned, he offered her his arm. "You gonna be okay? Kimmie said you sounded frantic over the phone."

"I… I'll be okay once I can sit down."

Sam motioned toward his apartment. "Well, c'mon inside."

But as soon as he opened the front door, he was greeted by the disturbing presence of Big Daddy, Professor DeNile and Will Crook, all with guns drawn.

Sam nodded in understanding. "Well, the gang's all here, huh?"

Big Daddy easily chuckled, his oily demeanor belying his considerable anticipation. "Yes indeed, Mr. Stoppable. And the game is afoot, in the words of Sir Conan Doyle."

"Well, I'm more a Bogart fan than one of Sherlock Holmes, if you haven't noticed. So, you guys ready to make the first down payment for the Maltese Mole Rat?"

Will gave him a disparaging look. "Maybe, maybe not, _amateur_."

Big Daddy raised a fat hand to stop the sniping. "Now, now, Will. Indeed we are, Mr. Stoppable. But first…"

Big Daddy placed three shells on the table before him. He plucked a pea from his pocket and placed it beneath one of the shells, then proceeded to swiftly move the shells around almost faster than the eye could follow.

"Double or nothing, Mr. Stoppable. If you can guess which shell the pea is under, you get the money. If not, you get nothing."

Will chided, "But we'll consider letting you live."

Beads of sweat began to break out on Sam's forehead, as he tried to figure out which shell had the pea under it. He suddenly smiled as he remembered a trick he had learned back at Yamanouchi. He coughed, instantly producing the pea in his hand.

Big Daddy's eyebrows shot up in surprise as he quickly checked beneath each shell, only to find that the pea was indeed missing.

"My word, sir, you are a character! There's never any telling what you'll do next, but it's bound to be astonishing. So here you are."

Big Daddy handed Sam an envelope. He counted the money inside.

"Hey, there's only ten grand here. We were talkin' a lot more money than this, weren't we?"

Big Daddy offered a half-hearted shrug. "Yes, we were. But as you can see, there are now more mouths to feed, shall we say? I'm afraid that's my final price."

Sam snickered. "Yeah, but I'm the one with the mole rat."

DeNile warned, "Vee don't need to remind you zat you may haf zee mole rat, but vee zertainly haf _you_."

Sam nervously replied, "Heh-heh. Uh, yeah. I'm trying not to worry about that. But there's one other thing. We need a fall guy to pin Blackeye Brown's murder on, as well as Junior and Tuesday's shootings. And that's _my_ final price. Lt. Barkin has had it in for me ever since the ninth grade, and he'd love nothing more than to put the blame on me. I need a perp to turn over to him so I can avoid being thrown in the slammer myself."

DeNile laughed, "Yes, but how shall vee choose? I'm sure no vun vill simply volunteer for zat honor."

Big Daddy smiled. "I, as always, have a fair and perfect solution."

He grabbed an empty root beer bottle from the coffee table.

"Spin the Bottle, anyone?"

He placed the bottle on the floor and spun it quickly around. It slowed, then stopped, pointing to its unfortunate victim.

Sam chuckled. "Well, well, Will Crook! Looks like you're our grand prize winner! And you're perfect for the part, with all that glowering and attitude. Let's see your sixteen different forms of surveillance help you _now_, wise guy."

Will's face grew beet red as he silently worked his jaw, furiously trying to think of something to say. He turned to Big Daddy.

"No! No, you can't do this to me!"

Big Daddy merely shrugged. "Sorry, Will. I feel toward you like I would my own son, but I can always get another son. However, there's only _one_ Maltese Mole Rat. Besides, you _did_ shoot Blackeye Brown, did you not?"

He continued with a tsk, "But even after shooting him, you failed to retrieve the Maltese Mole Rat."

He chuckled as he rubbed his hands together. "So we now have a new game: Pin the Tail on the Donkey. And you're 'it,' Will."

Will lashed back, "No way! I'm not going to be the fall guy anymore! It's time for me to finally take a step up!"

He waved his guns around the room to prove that he meant business.

"And no one better try to stop me. These aren't just water pistols!"

Shego lost no time in firing two well-aimed plasma bolts, knocking the now useless weapons from his hands. A third bolt knocked him out cold as he collapsed on the couch.

Shego yawned dismissively and drawled, "Well, _that's_ one fewer problem we have to deal with."

Big Daddy simply roared with laughter. "Excellent, Ms. Shego! Well, Mr. Stoppable, I believe we have a deal."

Shego licked her lips. "So, when do we get to see this thing anyway?"

Sam smiled as he picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Hello, Kimmie? I need you to pick up the statuette from my high school locker and bring it over to my place. Yeah, I know I graduated awhile back, but I knew that locker would come in handy again someday. Swell, see you in a few minutes."

Sam hung up and turned back to his still very dangerous guests. "One last thing. In order to pin everything on Will, I need to know exactly what happened and when, so I can explain the whole sitch convincingly to the cops. Let's start with Blackeye Brown."

Big Daddy began, "Very well, and I will begin with the truth. The Professor, Will and I were on the trail of the mole rat in Athens. We attempted to purchase it from General Sims, but he was extremely wary, calling the situation a Code Twenty-Three-slash-Skidoo. However, Ms. Shego and Tuesday had already formed an alliance, and managed to steal the Maltese Mole Rat from the General. DeNile had heard that Ms. Shego and Tuesday had been seen together on board the _Capullo de Rosa_ and put two and two together, guessing that she had hired Blackeye Brown to spirit the item out of the country."

"So you kept an eye out for when the ship would dock here."

"Indeed. So when DeNile read in the papers that that very ship was arriving here today, he figured that the item must be aboard. We went down to the ship to retrieve it, but Ms. Shego had beat us again to the punch, instructing Blackeye Brown to deliver the item to you instead. Will tried to stop him, but only managed to seriously wound the buccaneer. Ms. Shego then tried to stop Will with her unique plasma powers, but only managed to set the unfortunate ship on fire."

Shego smiled dangerously from beneath hooded eyes. "So I like flames. Ya got a problem with that?"

She graced Sam with a suggestive look as she began toying once again with the buttons on her blouse. "You like flames too, don't you, Mr. Stoppable?"

Sam smiled sheepishly back at her, pulling at his chronically tight collar. "_I've really got to get me some open-necked shirts if I'm going to continue in this bon-diggety line of work…"_

He forced himself to return his attention to Big Daddy, gasping out, "I see. Go on."

"So we persuaded Ms. Shego to reveal to whom she had told the dear captain to deliver the object to. We further persuaded her to phone you in an attempt to draw you away, but unfortunately, you already had the item in your possession."

"I see. Now let's recap the night of the shootings. Why was Tuesday shot, along with my partner?"

Big Daddy flashed him an evil grin as he cackled, "Now, this will take a bit of creativity. Let's see… we tried to encourage Tuesday to join our little band, but unfortunately he refused to see reason. You of course have observed the result. As for your business associate, he was singing on stage, and having observed our little tableaux, Will was forced to take care of him as well."

"Sounds plausible, Mr. Fatgut. So, Will shot Tuesday?"

Will had by now regained consciousness, and mumbled back, "No, I shot Monday."

"Monday?"

DeNile explained. "Billy Monday. He's zee owner of zee karaoke club."

Will shrugged. "What was I supposed to do? He wouldn't let me in without a ticket."

Sam pressed on. "Okay, then when did you shoot Tuesday?"

"I didn't. I shot Junior, then he fell, then I left the bar as fast as I could."

"So you didn't shoot Tuesday, but you shot Monday, then Junior, then he fell."

"No, I didn't shoot him either."

"Huh?"

DeNile explained once again. "Johnny Heefell vas zee waiter. He vas shot right after Tuesday vas shot, but Will had already left."

"After Tuesday?"

Will replied, "No, right before midnight on Monday."

"Sorry. I mean who shot first, you or Tuesday?"

Will looked confused. "Uh, no one shot First."

DeNile pointed out, "Jill First vas zee hatcheck girl. She vas schtabbed before zee karaoke contest even began."

Sam sighed. "Well then, who stabbed First?"

"Zat's right."

"Huh?"

"Pete Who. He zang zecond but vas disqualified. In a fit of anger he schtabbed First, but zee police took him away right after zee third person zang."

Sam let out an exasperated sigh. "So let me get this straight. Will shot Monday, but not Tuesday, then Junior, then Will left."

"Nein, Will Left vasn't shot. He actually vas zee vinner of zee entire competition!"

Sam rubbed his temples, which were beginning to throb painfully. "Okay, let's start over. Will shot Monday, then Junior. Who stabbed First, then Tuesday was shot, then Heefell."

"Not quite. Tuesday didn't fall as he vas already sitting down. He merely collapsed on zee table after being shot."

Sam's exasperation had finally reached its limit. He yelled, "_So who shot Tuesday!_"

DeNile waved his arms. "Nein, Nein! Who stabbed First _before_ Tuesday vas shot! Haven't you been listening to a verd I haf said? He couldn't possibly haf done it!"

Everyone then began talking all at once, Sam becoming even more confused as they all tried to sort the details out. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and everyone fell silent.

Sam opened the door. Before him stood Kimmie, holding the precious statuette. All eyes were drawn to the mysterious figurine.

"Thanks, Kimmie. You're an angel. I'll call you if I need anything else."

Sam set the statuette on the table. Big Daddy was nearly beside himself in joyful anticipation.

"Now, after all these years, I finally have it! But just to make sure…"

He pulled out a pocket knife and began scraping away the glossy black paint covering the figurine. His joy soon turned to frustration as he furiously continued to scrape away at the object.

"Fake… It's a phony! It's only charcoal! It's a fake!"

Sweat poured down Big Daddy's face as he sullenly collapsed into a chair.

Sam smirked, "Okay, Ms. Shego. You've had your little fun. Now tell us where the real one is."

Shego looked honestly puzzled. "Sorry, that's definitely the one I stole from General Sims."

She proudly smirked, "And he didn't make it easy. There were traps and alarms all over, but nothing that an expert thief like me couldn't handle. But I guess he expected that."

Prof. DeNile turned angrily on Big Daddy. "You! You bungled it! He must haf found out how valuable it vas and made a copy to trick us! You schtupid idiot! You fat-headed imbecile!"

Big Daddy mopped his damp brow. "Well, it would seem that we have another trip back to Athens in our future, as our little game of hide and seek continues."

He turned to Sam. "Why don't you join us, Mr. Stoppable? You're pretty good in a fight. We could use you."

Sam slowly wagged his head. "Nah, I've had enough excitement for one day, as badical as it might turn out to be."

"Very well, then. It's the top of the tide, and we must be off."

They suddenly noticed that in all the excitement, Will Crook had escaped. Big Daddy broke out in a hearty laugh, his jowls shaking in ironic pleasure.

"It seems that we _all_ have lost something in this little misadventure, Mr. Stoppable. I trust you'll get along with the police without a fall guy?"

Sam heaved a small sigh. "Yeah, I guess I'll have to make do."

"And to you, Ms. Shego, I leave the _h__eterocephalus glaber _as a little memento. Possession is nine tenths of the law, as they say. And short farewells are the best, Mr. Stoppable. So adieu, auf wiedersehen, ciao, sayonara, and au revoir."

As Big Daddy closed the door behind him, Sam remarked, "How do you like that? He didn't even say goodbye."

He picked up the phone and quickly dialed a number. "Hello, Officer Hobble? Sam Stoppable. Listen, I've got the case all wrapped up. Blackeye Brown and Junior were shot by a kid named Will Crook. He works for a guy by the name of Casper Fatgut. Ya can't miss him, he must weigh 400 pounds. Oh, and don't let him play any games with you, he's more slippery than a greased pig. Prof. DeNile's with him too. What? DeNile stiffed you with the bill at the bar and grill last night? Well, here's your chance for a little revenge sitch then. But you better hurry, they're headed back to the Hotel Brotherson and are about to blow town. And don't forget to bring your little playmate Lt. Barkin along. I've got a special surprise for him."

He hung up and turned to Shego.

"We only have a few minutes to get ready for the police, so give me all of it quick! When you first came to my office, why did you really want Tuesday followed?"

Shego stammered, "I thought he'd betrayed me. I wanted to find out…"

"Liar! You had him wrapped around your little green finger. You wanted him out of the way so you wouldn't have to split the Mole Rat with him. So you told him he was being followed."

Shego began to falter. "Yes… yes, that's what I told him."

"Then Junior entered the picture. He doesn't have much in the way of brains, but he had enough karaoke experience to be prepared for the contest. But he totally lost his head when he saw _you_, angel. He was just naive enough for that. He looked you up and down, licked his lips and sung his heart out for you, isn't that right?"

Shego was aghast. "Sam, don't say that. You know how I feel about you…"

Sam cut her off. "There's no time for your schoolgirl act! The police will be here any minute! And I know Will couldn't hit the broadside of a barn, let alone on some enchanted evening, across a crowded room. He just likes to brag, even if it means 20 years to life. So talk! Why did you shoot Junior?"

Shego finally broke down completely. "I didn't want to at first, really. But when Bonnie offered me a Chased credit card with a $10,000 limit, I couldn't resist."

Sam was astounded. "So it _was_ Bonnie who hired you! Now it makes perfect sense. With Junior out of the way, she thought she'd have a chance with me. And with Tuesday out of the way, you'd have a shot at the Maltese Mole Rat. Then the police would figure that Tuesday shot Junior, and that Fatgut and his friends shot Tuesday, and you'd be off scot-free, laughing all the way back to Athens with a priceless mole rat and a badical credit card."

Shego's face fell as dark, foreboding orchestral music began playing form the other room. Kimmie waved her baton to cut off the orchestra just as Sam announced, "Yes, angel, I'm sending you over. You might get out in 10 years. Maybe 120 months with good behavior."

Shego breathed a sigh of relief. "Yeah, 120 months would be a lot shorter than…"

She hit herself on the head as she realized she was being kidded.

Sam continued wistfully, "And when you get out, I'll be waiting for you with a gift certificate for some new clothes from the Smarty Mart collection. But if they hang you by your pretty green neck, well, I'll always remember you."

Shego gave a self-conscious little laugh. "Don't, Sam! Don't say that, even in jest! I was scared for a minute, there. You've always done such wild and goofy things… I really thought you were serious there for a moment…"

Sam brusquely cut her off. "Sorry, Shego, but I'm not playing the sap for you anymore! When your partner gets shot, you're supposed to do something about it, not go all gaga over the femme fatale that did it. It's bad for business."

Shego made one last ditch effort to charm Sam. She sashayed over to him, giving him the best Puppy Dog Pout that she could manage. "But it's not too late, Sam. Y'know, we could still make such beautiful music together."

But Sam firmly stood his ground. "I don't think so, Shego. Kimmie has that music playing sitch totally over you in spades. And I don't think she'd appreciate turning my duet with her into a trio. That would just be wrongsick."

Sam locked eyes with the dangerous vixen. "Sorry, my green angel, _but __you're taking the fall!_"

A police car's siren was heard in the distance.

Shego's face hardened as she ignited her plasma with a powerful whoosh. "Oh, yeah? Over my dead body!"

Kimmie suddenly appeared directly behind Shego. "That can be arranged, you tramp! And keep away from my boyfriend!"

Kimmie instantly clobbered her with the statuette. Shego crumpled to the floor while Kimmie looked on and smiled.

"Sweet dreams, Shego."

Sam looked down at the unconscious femme fatale. "Nice shot! What did you do, hit her with the Maltese Mole Rat?"

"Yeah. I warned you that you'd get in over your head if you weren't careful. And it's a good thing I was close by, Romeo. Just what is it with you and all these bad girls anyway?"

Sam smiled weakly, offering a tiny shrug just as Detective Hobble and Lt. Barkin walked in.

"Hey, Detective. Got all the bad guys?"

He patted Sam on the back. "Faith and begorrah, we got 'em all, Sam. Good work."

"Coolio! Here's another one for you. Ms. Shego shot both Junior and Tuesday, and torched the _Capullo de Rosa_ to boot. And it turns out that Bonnie hired her to do the deed. Oh, and here are some exhibits: the gun that Will Crook used to shoot Blackeye Brown with, and this badical statuette that all the fuss was over."

Lt. Barkin looked the figurine over and asked, "So what exactly _is _this thing anyway?"

Sam intoned, "The stuff that dreams are made of…"

"Huh?"

DeNile yelled out from the back of the patrol car, "Der schtuff zat dreams are made of! Cannot you hear straight? Ach, and _I_ am zee one in custody…"

Kimmie looked back down at the statuette. The impact had broken off pieces of the second layer of charred crust, exposing another layer beneath. She eagerly broke away the rest of the charcoalized Naco exterior to expose its true form. Before them now glittered a pure gold statuette of a naked mole rat, encrusted with precious jewels of all shapes and sizes.

Sam was astounded. "Wow, Kimmie! So this was actually the real deal after all! We've hit the jackpot! Booyah!"

He held the treasure up to the light, casting its beautiful multi-colored reflections throughout his small apartment.

"Now I can afford to move out of this flat and into something a lot nicer, and get the office completely renovated, just like I've been promising!"

Kimmie happily grinned back, "Sounds spankin,' Sam!"

As Lt. Barkin handcuffed Shego and led her away, Kimmie continued, "Oh, and by the way, the AARP called. Something about our sign sounding discriminatory against seniors."

Sam scratched the back of his neck. "Ooh, yeah, I can see that. Uh, first thing tomorrow, have that taken off, and have 'Stoppable and Peregrine, Private Investigators' put on.

Kimmie gasped in delight. "Really?"

"Yeah, and who knows? We might even have to replace that someday with "Stoppable & Stoppable."

She pumped both arms into the air in victory, and happily began dancing around the room.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Rufus grabbed his tiny sax and began playing a jazzy rendition of "Here Comes the Bride."

Kimmie then gave Sam a devilish look as she gazed at him through half-closed eyes. She proceeding to slink over to the boyish detective.

"Now, where were we a few hours ago? Say, in your office at about 5pm this afternoon?"

Sam hooded his eyes in return as he swept her into his embrace. "Sorry, shweetheart. Employer/client confidentiality and all that."

She slyly replied, "Oh, _really_?"

As their lips met with delicious finality, the credits began to roll, and Ron awoke from his pleasant reverie.

He rubbed his eyes and moaned, "Oh, man! I slept through the whole movie _again_. But what a bon-diggety dream…"

He slowly got up and walked upstairs. As his dream began to fade, he began to reminisce over his real past. He gratefully recalled the thrill of countless missions he had shared with Kim, and he was even more thankful for their continued relationship, which had stood the test of time. She had encouraged him like few others had, which ultimately had gotten him his present position as Professor of Antiquities at the Middleton Institute of History and Archeology, a post he had held now for many years.

But had it not been for Rufus, they might not even have survived some of those missions, let alone get together romantically. There was little doubt that his feelings for his faithful wife of so many years had been the underlying reason for that vivid dream, along with a generous dollop of gratefulness toward a certain naked mole rat.

But he had better get some sleep now. It wouldn't look too good for the professor to fall asleep while giving his class their final exams, especially in the college's newest wing, Barkin Hall.

Kim was sound asleep, but she looked every bit as beautiful as she had on their wedding day, nearly fifty years before. But before he crawled into bed, he passed by the niche in the wall, gently running his fingers over a tiny memorial statuette. A small, wistful tear formed in the corner of one eye.

"Thanks for getting us together, Rufus. We'll never forget you. You always had the right stuff: the stuff that dreams are made of."

A tiny flicker of light from Ron's nightlight reflected off of the figurine's tiny jeweled eyes. As Ron turned away, it almost looked as if it were smiling.

_**The End**_


End file.
